


Whumptober 2020 - 11 - Defiant

by Celticgal1041



Series: Whumptober 2020 [11]
Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticgal1041/pseuds/Celticgal1041
Summary: He had no idea where he was going, and his mind simply screamed at him, ‘Get away, get away, get away!’
Series: Whumptober 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949548
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Whumptober 2020 - 11 - Defiant

“Shh, just calm down; you’re okay,” Rick murmured as he pressed his hands gently against Magnum’s bony shoulders. His gaze skittered down the length of his friend’s too-thin body, shifting from the red, swollen skin around both eyes to the large, nearly black bruise that covered the man’s lower left flank.

He hated that they were currently the cause of Thomas’ pain, but Nuzo had no choice but to palpate the battered area to make sure nothing more serious was hiding beneath the darkened skin. Lower down, TC crouched near Magnum’s ankles, holding both legs down so Nuzo didn’t accidently take another knee to the head while he finished his examination.

“Hey, don’t touch,” Rick soothed, this time reaching for the hand meant to interfere with Sebastian’s. Wright intercepted it and pulled it upwards, deciding to hold onto it rather than placing it back down on the ground. Magnum clutched at his friend’s shirt, his fingers holding on with surprising strength given the beating he’d suffered.

A smattering of words made their way from Thomas’ mouth, almost too low and slurred to understand. Rick’s gaze shifted automatically back to Nuzo, who next to Magnum, had the best command of the local dialect. “He’s refusing to tell them anything,” Sebastian provided, instinctively understanding Wright’s unspoken request.

“Wonder what they wanted to know this time,” TC said. It was always the same things: how many troops were stationed in-country; what weapons did they have in their inventory; and which high-value targets were they planning to attack next. After being held for over three months it amazed him that they continued to ask, knowing that their intelligence was out-of-date and rapidly becoming useless.

As if hearing Calvin’s unspoken thoughts, Magnum repeated his earlier statement, his legs and arms jerking within his friends’ grips as if to emphasize his point. “It’s okay, Tommy, we know you won’t tell.”

At that moment, Nuzo pressed harder on a particularly dark patch just below Magnum’s ribs, causing the injured man to cry out and attempt to roll away from the pain. Several sets of hands held him in place, causing his distress to grow until he was nearly hyperventilating with the desperation of needing to get away.

“He’s gonna pass out if we don’t do something quick,” TC warned as he practically lay across Magnum’s legs to stop him from moving.

“You’re right,” Nuzo agreed as he lifted his hands from Thomas’ midsection. “Let him go.”

“What?” Rick’s head snapped towards the order man, wincing as Magnum bucked beneath him. “Are you crazy?”

“He’s not helping himself any thrashing around like that, and he’s too out of his head to realize he’s back with us,” Nuzo countered. Softening his expression and his tone, he repeated his earlier request. “Let him go.”

Rick’s emotions warred with him as he decided what to do. He didn’t want Thomas to hurt himself any worse than he already was, but his touch should provide comfort not fear. That it currently did the opposite of what was intended, gutted him and left him feeling angry and resentful.

Nuzo’s hand reached across Magnum’s body to gently grip Wright’s shoulder, forcing the other man to meet his gaze. “Let him go, Rick,” Nuzo once more urged, this time pushing gently against his upper arm to reinforce his request.

Rick’s fingers felt cramped and he released his hold with difficulty, his movements shaky and uncoordinated as he released Thomas’s arms. At the injured SEAL’s feet, TC was doing the same, and he fell back onto his heels slowly to avoid startling the man.

For several long seconds, nothing happened, the three men nearly afraid to breathe lest the sound of their inhales and exhales be the last straw for their friend. Between them, Magnum laid stiffly on the ground, his muscles tense as he waited to be struck yet again. As they watched, a slow tremor worked its way out from the man’s core, until his limbs were fairly vibrating.

“What…” Rick began, but a curt headshake from Nuzo had him biting his tongue. Every fibre of his being ached for their friend, and to be prevented from offering even the smallest bit of comfort was practically killing him.

Magnum continued to tremble, his eyes open to mere slits against the swelling that surrounded them. His lips moved unceasingly, repeating the same words over and over again. Suddenly, awareness dawned, and he realized he was no longer being held. Immediately, his limbs began to scrabble at the ground as he managed an uncoordinated backwards crabwalk, stopping only when his shoulders met the cave wall behind him.

Pulling his legs up and his chest down, he wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his head in his knees. His lips continued to move the entire time while his friends observed him warily from several feet away.

* * *

(Magnum’s POV)

Since they’d been captured, there’d been very little certainty in their lives. Water was offered haphazardly, and they could be left thirsty for days; food was available inconsistently and barely edible. The only constant in their new reality was the sand that seemed to be everywhere and the fact that their captors despised Americans, leading them to relish every opportunity to make them suffer.

The beatings were a regular occurrence, with Magnum quickly identified as their favorite target. The choice wasn’t completely their own; Thomas knew he’d encouraged them to pick him over his friends whenever he was coherent and physically capable of putting himself between the other men and any potential harm.

The looks on his friends’ faces when he was taken was painful for him to see, but it hurt way less than being left behind whenever one of the others was taken in his place; no amount of physical abuse was ever worse than having to deal with his friends’ hurts when they’d been taken instead of him.

Today’s session had been particularly brutal, Magnum having panicked a bit when the skin around his eyes had swelled. The result had left him nearly blind and feeling exceptionally vulnerable, with each subsequent hit coming as something of a surprise because he couldn’t see its approach.

He’d been vaguely aware of movement and had prayed to be returned to his friends, but he couldn’t recognize any of the voices or faces surrounding him. That might have been due to the concussion he was suffering, but to Magnum’s muddled brain he was still being interrogated.

The hands of his new antagonists were everywhere, and they seemed to be determined to increase his pain, poking and pressing at all of his already injured parts. Though he’d struggled to get away, they continued to torment him, and not even his assertion that he wouldn’t tell them anything seemed to convince them. Until suddenly, he was free.

When the hands holding him inexplicably disappeared, he was too afraid to move. They’d used this trick in the past, trying to lull him into a false sense of security before attacking him even more viciously than before. He could feel his muscles trembling, the anticipation of the next blow almost worse than actually being hit. When nearly a minute passed and nothing happened, he decided to take a chance and try to get away.

His arms and legs felt disconnected from his body, but he still managed to get them moving enough to scramble backwards from his interrogators. He had no idea where he was going, and his mind simply screamed at him, ‘Get away, get away, get away!’

When he hit something cold and solid, he leaned against it, pulling his arms and legs close to his body to make himself as small a target as possible. He knew it wouldn’t matter in the long run – nothing stopped these men when they wanted to hurt you – but he wasn’t about to make it easy for them.

Pressing his forehead against his knees, he repeated the same words he’d been telling them along: I won’t tell you anything. It was the last thing he could give for his friends and he would continue until his last breath. Stubborn. Uncooperative. Defiant.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to AZGirl for proofing; all remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> This story was based on the day 11 prompt: Psych 101: defiance / struggling / crying
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're so inclined!


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